Empyrean Rose
by Capella A. Morningside
Summary: [Drug Use, Disturbing Themes.] Now only a certain kind of crystal would hold his gaze, enchant him, make or break him. His obsession would strike the world around him, leaving broken lives in its wake. [MaTaki, TohmaSakano, slight KSakano.]
1. Aurora Borealis

**Empyrean Rose**  
_by Capella A. Morningside_

_I: Taki: Aurora Borealis_

He'd pick at them, he couldn't help it, though it left bleeding sores that wouldn't heal for days on end. Now he was thankful his nervous breakdown hadn't forced him into the timid habit that many develop of biting one's nails. He needed them now, more than ever. Scratching at first, watching the skin go red, feeling the minuscule insect crawling and twitching disgustingly beneath the thin layers, then digging, digging until the blood came. With little red trails creeping down his skin he'd reach beneath, ignoring the stinging pain, in a vain attempt to capture one of his tiny tormentors before it burrowed deeper into his flesh and got away. He never won these battles, or ever really came close, but Taki wished deeply for the day he would reach into his self-inflicted wounds and pull out at least one of the countless and squeeze it between his fingers, watching as it writhed and kicked its legs about in agony before finally becoming a shapeless mass of innards and exoskeleton.

It was a disease, one that had been with him since his dreams had been shattered like an expensive vase on the floor. Everything he'd tried to hold onto, protect, had been taken away from him. It had happened in an instant, or it had taken a hundred years, he had lost track of how long he'd been staring into those bright headlights... long enough to _blind_ him permanently, if nothing else.

He'd listened to the cheerful voice of Seguchi Tohma and its final curse to him enough times in his own head to make him _deaf_...

Felt the meant-to-be reassuring pats and embraces of Ken-chan and Ma-kun enough times to make him _numb_...

Gradually he lost the memory of what he'd been trying to achieve, forgetting the dream that had taken him as far as it had, with all these things assaulting his senses until he felt as if he were under a potent anesthesia, and all he craved anymore was to feel again.

He had once been a man that had a love for diamonds, but now a different kind of crystal would hold his gaze, enchant him, make or break him. Translucent, the sight of everything through them becoming multiple and distorted, the crystals had become his closest and most intimate friend. It wouldn't ever leave him, always waiting there to pick him up again when the crashes came...

_The beautiful, delicate jewel that was holding his life together like patchwork on an old quilt..._

_A brilliant treasure not made of stone... _

_The magnificent, healing, crystalline wonder that alleviated the ache of his bleeding, broken angel's wings..._

Yet sadly it was beyond its power to permit him to fly again.

Being flightless had not, however, prevented him from becoming something more. His hopes destroyed, his dreams shattered into a thousand vitreous pieces (which re-entered his body few at a time through a flame, leaving behind only thin smoky fog), all clouded vision had been removed from his eyes. Now he was able to see, truly see...

_If only he'd had **the sight **earlier he may have been able to save his wings..._

_Able to see the true forms of **the harpies** that threw him down from the heavens, their long, bony hands reaching, grabbing, snapping in twain the bones of the divine appendages..._

But it didn't matter anymore. He no longer feared them and their sharpened claws. Even though he was no longer in their reach, Taki knew if he even stepped back into their realm he'd not be afraid, rather, they would fear him as one fears the sight of someone thought to be dead by all rights. And he might as well be dead, to them, _to all... _because the Taki Aizawa they had once known, took advantage of and ignored had become something extraordinary.

His _sight _could destroy them, if he wanted it to. But he had a much better idea than that.

He would _exterminate _the plague of the realm that had once been _his _to conquer...

_And maybe, just maybe, he thought, I'll be able to mend my wings._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **Well, welcome to the incredibly disturbing beginning of Empyrean Rose. I guarantee it won't all be like this, so don't let me scare you away completely... only the two chapters at the beginning that are Taki-centric, the rest use other perspectives. This particular chapter is as bad as it gets.

Also, welcome to the world of crystal meth and what it does to people. Methamphetamine is the most addictive and the most destructive drug out there, folks, not pretty stuff. The picking at the skin in the first paragraph is what's called 'crank bugs', an effect the drug has on your nervous system to make you think there are bugs crawling under your skin, gross! The dependency and delusional factor are equally nasty.

Additional notes: The chapter title is in accordance with the 'theme', if you will, of the chapters that will be in Taki's perspective. The theme is cosmos.

Well, I hope you enjoyed, or rather, didn't enjoy it, but found it intriguing enough to go on and maybe even leave a review.


	2. Supernova

**Empyrean Rose**

_by Capella A. Morningside_

_II: Taki: Supernova_

Things were going flawlessly. The receptionist at the front had been too distracted to notice someone with paranoid eyes and a knee-length black coat slinking past the metal detectors, although his attire was meant for otherwise. Leather and studded jewelry adorned most his person in excess... _but of course. This was the first and last performance of the solo career of Taki Aizawa; the debut and farewell concert all in one. He had to look as stunning as possible, more god-like and awe-inspiring than even Ryuichi Sakuma. _

_And it could be black, and only black. An angel of **death **prepared itself to descend in one long, merciless swoop over the building..._

Either it was luck, or Fate was perhaps on his side, that no one recognized the man navigating the halls not through awareness but though memory. No one questioned his presence or even truly gave him a second glance... at one time this would have sparked his anger, but now it worked to his advantage, having been brought down to the status of a _nothing _had finally paid off.

The elevator rose toward the sky with the feeling of a gentle rise, like being a formless spirit in the process of leaving its earthly body. Taki relished the sensation, tilting his head back, letting his arms go limp and closing his eyes, letting his body be fooled into the dream that he could once again fly, only to be brought back to the cruel reality of his bloody, useless wings by the clear sound of the bell.

The reflective doors slid open, and he found himself at the end of a seemingly endless corridor, decorated only by a false plant here or there, a single bench, and a few second-rate paintings scattered on the walls. Two wooden doors visible, the classic double-door at the end, and a narrower, open door just next to it, on the side of the hall.

_Though the hallway was level, if it tilted either up or down it could have given him the impression he was either climbing to the highest of __**heaven **or descending into the deepest reaches of the **underworld**_...

How... exactly like him, Taki mused, remembering to exit the elevator just as the doors nearly shut on him.

With each step, he felt his heart rate increase microscopically more... it would be pounding by the time he reached the end. There was a time when these trips inspired nervousness, fear, but today his only companion on the long walk would be adrenaline, the thrill pumping through his veins with each brutal beat of his heart, combining with the newest crystals within him to give him a feeling unlike any other.

Eternity passed, but none the worse for the wear, he at least was reaching forward, trying to still his trembling hand as he touched the chilly metal...

"Excuse me, sir."

_Oh great._

"Do you have an appointment?"

It was a friendly female voice, calling out from the open door to his right. Taki halted, not releasing the door handle just yet, but glaring at her from the corner of his eye. A young, neat woman with short brown hair and wire-framed glasses kept her smile as she watched him, albeit apprehensively, waiting for an answer. When one did not come fast enough, her brows knotted in concern and she urged, lowly, "...sir?"

"No," he replied, in a soft voice. He couldn't let himself be heard before his grand entrance; it would be like looking out at one's audience through the curtain before stepping on stage. He let his hand drop from the door, turning to face her as she stood with desk behind her. "I was summoned here," came the follow-up.

_At least it wasn't a complete __**lie**..._

His gaze left her, going back to the door, and the only sound that reached him was a quick shuffling. "Name, please?" she prompted, no doubt looking over some piece of paper.

The rapidly-working mind of the addressed presented him with an idea, and he took it. One, two, three large strides, and he was in her office, regarding her with an air of superiority. Those naïve green eyes had finally triggered his memory...

Taki's voice shifted to a tone that had once never failed to get what he wanted out of any woman that came his way. "I don't think he even knows he has summoned me yet, my dear but he has. So if you please, miss... I'd like to just pay my good old friend a visit without any hassle."

The secretary cautiously stepped back from the imposing figure that had just entered her doorway, grasping the edge of her desk, fingers fumbling beneath it in search. "I-I'm sorry sir, but if you're n-not cleared to be-e up here, I'm going to ha-ve to ask y-you to leave."

A low, disturbed laugh from the man. "No."

The fervor of her search increased. "Th-then I will h-have to call security... sir." Far shorter in stature than the man before her, the young woman cringed against the wooden desk, hand trembling as she groped under the furniture, and suppressing a yelp of terror as she felt her upper arm caught in a firm grasp. It brought her hand into view, Taki's free hand quickly claiming her other arm and transferring both of her thin wrists into one hand with ease. "Let m-me go..." came her shaky demand, followed by a meek: "Please."

"There will be no need for security to get involved, Kunniko-chan." He grinned, shark-like. "Have you forgotten again? The little red button you were risking it all to press is on the other," here he gestured his head toward the far corner of the front of the desk, "end of your desk. Tsk, tsk."

Kunniko's eyes widened, stuttering out, "A-aizawa-san?"

"Correct, and yet, not," Taki half-sang, the fingers of his free hand closing around something solid and heavy on top of the woman's desk, out of her sight and earshot, distracting her with a chaste kiss to her forehead. This earned nothing less than a growl. "But, I'm afraid the little monologue I could give you on that subject is being saved for someone else."

"Y-you're crazy," she snarled, struggling against his hold. "If you d-don't let me go I'll scream."

"Goodnight, Kunniko-chan."

_Swift, merciless, but not lethal... a quick quieting blow to the skull with a metallic paperweight, and she slept._

Kunniko's form went limp almost immediately, slumping forward against Taki before she was able to utter a single sound. His hands went gently to her shoulders, setting his temporary weapon back where he'd found it, and began to step backwards, lying the young woman on the flooring as tenderly as he could. When she finally lay, stretched out on the flooring, he briefly ran his fingers into her hair, whispering against her ear.

_Let it be known that the Angel of Death came today... but his servant showed __**mercy** upon you._

The resulting silence when he finally stood, having completed the delivery of his message, was broken much swifter than he thought it would, and he shuddered to think that his entire plan was on the verge of ruin when the doors of the much larger office swung open.

Thankfully the one that emerged was not the reason he was there. Instead, a dark-haired, fitful man seemed to leap out in an exaggerated fashion. Recognition struck Taki immediately, and he froze in place, knowing full well that all the man would have to do is look the right direction to make all of the efforts worthless. The rather shaken-looking being that was Sakano was still too busy looking back into the office which he had come out of, calling out with eagerness, "Of c-course! I'll g-get it, right away-y, Shachou!"

_Still, paralyzed, like a stone... blend in with the shadows..._

Several words, faint, came from the office, the only ones coherent being "Will it be oolong, or jasmine?"

"Yes," Sakano replied nonsensically, finally releasing the office doors and taking off down the corridor at a quickened pace.

Taki stood still for many moments beyond necessity, finally peering around the corner down the hallway many moments after the timid man was long gone. The passage clear, the grand performance not interrupted or ruined, he stepped into the middle of the hall, grinning, and pushed his way through the door abruptly.

If he had not kept his mind severely focused on the task at hand, Taki most likely would have been either shocked or amused at the expression on his target's face as he looked over his shoulder and apparently was not met with something he predicted. But it faded just as quickly as it came, the man turning away from the large windows to face the intruder, adjusting his black and maroon outfit to make sure nothing was out of place, sunlight pouring in and forming an aureole around his delicate form like a seraphim.

The other was the first to speak. "May I ask what you are doing in here?" Sea-colored eyes narrowed, half in aggression, half in calculation. "And who exactly are you?"

"Seguchi-san, I was sure your memory was much better than that," Taki replied, arms crossing against his chest, the sleeves of his coat riding up somewhat in the process.

The blonde gave a deep sigh. "Aizawa-san. You know you are not allowed on the premises."

"You of all people knew that my occasional... disregard, of rules, was what gave me such potential to be great."

"Leave," Tohma stoically replied. "I won't ask again."

Taki's grin didn't fade, boldly sauntering into the spacious office with an air of complete confidence. The change in his former boss' eyes, from cold into a more warning gaze, only bothered him for the split-second in which it occurred, for a moment he felt the bugs crawling along underneath his skin once more, then it vanished again under the surface of the high.

"You'd be wasting your breath if you did," the intruder taunted, pointing one bony finger in Seguchi's direction. "You have no power here, not in my presence."

Finally did Tohma notice the state of Aizawa's body; the frighteningly thin hands, pale complexion, and a number of red, scabbed sores all along the visible part of his arm that made the blonde's stomach lurch. Glancing up again, he took quick note of the man's glassy, crazed eyes, and mentally pieced it all together... _no wonder he hadn't recognized the man right off_. He knew all too well that artists, when faced with tough situations, tended to find dramatic or drastic ways out of it, but rarely did the self-inflicted problems of performers show themselves this plainly, for performers were just that.

"Aizawa-san," the president inquired softly, taking a couple of small, cautious steps toward his desk. "What happened to you?"

"Don't you give me that sugary act, Seguchi," Taki fumed, withdrawing his hand with a jerk and adjusting his sleeves to better hide his scarred arms. "I see right through it!"

Tohma shook his head. "You can't see anything. Not in your state." The man's calm demeanor was beginning to wear on Taki's already raw nerves.

"I see more now than I ever could before, but you as usual choose to ignore, turn a blind eye to anything that you don't think is possibly beneficial to you..." A pause, savoring the moment just before he delivered the addition to his sentence, "...or Yuki Eiri."

Something intense, yet unreadable to most flashed through the president's eyes, telling Taki he'd struck exactly where he'd wanted to, and with the exact force he'd calculated. But he didn't stop there, the stake had to be driven in further.

"That was where I came in usefulness, right? You had found a villain, and you could finally do something you've always wanted... rush in and be his little knight in shining armor. I played out my role in your fairy tale, and then I was just supposed to disappear, isn't that right?" The anger once suppressed was no longer lurking under the surface, Seguchi's soft features twisted into a menacing, murderous glare. Where anyone in their right mind would have wisely not opened their mouth again, however, the crazed man continued. "You thought I would become nothing. You thought you would never see me again, that way you wouldn't have to feel the guilt that you should feel for the way you used me."

The usual flowery overtone completely gone from Tohma's voice, he at length gave a near unheard reply, voice quivering with rage. "What is it you want from me, Aizawa-san? Money for your habit? A fight? Pity, maybe? Or is that all you have to say?"

"Wrong, wrong, wrong and wrong again, as usual, Seguchi." Taki grinned, a simple gesture that seemed to rouse so much more anger from the other man it nearly surprised him.

"I'm in no mood for your games. Tell me what it is you want."

"And I'm in no mood for yours either. Don't you mean, 'tell me what I can do that will make you vanish'?"

"If I simply wanted you to vanish," Tohma said, striding over to his desk swiftly and striking something that made a clicking sound beneath it, "I would have done so as soon as you came in here."

The dark-haired man's eyes widened. "How dare you..."

Then the trademark smile was there again, one hand going to the blonde's hip. "Silent alarm, Aizawa-san."

"I know that, you no-talent fool!" Taki half-screamed. Great, now he had a time constraint, a short one at that. "Better make this quick then."

Before Seguchi could even question what that last statement meant, he knew all too well. Slowly, carefully, he raised both hands where they were within the other man's visibility, taking one, two cautious steps backwards.

Clicking back the safety of the handgun, Aizawa leveled the barrel at his target, the adrenaline now coursing through him in more quantity than ever. The euphoria, combined with the surrendering position of his greatest enemy... _now he truly was a god..._

"I'd ask if you had any last words," Taki mused, trying to mask the shakiness in his tone from the pure rush, "But it's your own fault we don't have time for such pleasantries."

Tohma's eyes locked with the other's in defiance, then closed, a few swift visions passing before his mind's eye. And at that...

_The enraged god sent forth metal and fire, striking down the one who had opposed him..._

There was no cry. The blonde lurched forward, hands weakly attempting to clutch at his chest. A couple of weak, sickly coughs, and he stumbled back, hitting the glass with a loud sound, and unable to support his own weight any longer slumped down against it... down, down into a sitting position, hat falling to the floor next to him. Now the sunlight poured through the tainted parts of the glass in a shade as perfectly red as stained windows in a chapel, save one minuscule error, a spider-webbed pattern centered around the single bullet, as if the glass panels had set up an altar to honor it.

_With a toothy grin, Death's errant felt his wings begin to rejuvenate, much like the rebirth of a phoenix..._

_And he set off, one more task at hand, through his grand delusion not even seeing or feeling the nervous man he threw to the ground on his hellpath back down the corridor._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Notes: **Wah! That was fun and yet painful to do, at the same time. (I can never decide if I really hate or really love Tohma.) I tried to keep the surreal air that kinda 'goes with' Taki in this piece, but at the same time this wasn't an introspective like last time so I slapped it in between actual interactions with reality. The choppiness of this is intentional. Well, at least that's the last I'll be writing of his perspective. It's creepy. A very different perspective will greet you all in the next chapter.

Well, uh, ran out of things to say. Oh yea. Thanks to everyone that reviewed my first chapter, Silverone, Guren, Anon64 and of course the incomparable HeidedeVries!


	3. Sleepsong

**Empyrean Rose  
**_by Capella A. Morningside_

_III: Sakano: Sleepsong_

I cradle the hands I adored for so long in my own, their temperature fading, the small amount of heat they naturally radiated being wafted away slowly by the air currents in the room; you always did have such cold hands. Two of my fingers slipped within the silken sleeve to monitor you, a slow, steady beat fading into the background like the end of a song that the artists weren't sure how to finish. I want to tear away, because you would never want to be seen like this, in such disarray. If you had the strength to, I half-imagine you would retrieve your fallen hat, adjust your coat to hide the profusely bleeding wound in your chest, and then kindly ask me in that trademark polite tone to fetch a cloth and some cleaner to wash the smeared red from the glass behind and above you.

For some reason, in the situation I would have expected most to give me a heart attack, I can be nothing but calm. I'm afraid of disturbing the atmosphere you have somehow created around you even in your last moments, a bubble of resolution around you that assures me that you are indeed conscious though you lack the strength to show it. Even in this state you hold me in your hypnotic spell, and I am completely unable to leave you as long as I still feel that musical beat beneath my fingertips... perhaps after it fades I will still not be able to break away. You know I am here, I know you do, you are aware of who is by your side, clutching your hands desperately in my own and doing nothing more than simply waiting for you to give in to Death.

The beat fades a little more, and a sudden desperation kicks in. Silence currently reigns, and I know it won't for long, panic most likely spreading through the building like a newspaper put to flame, and in these few quiet moments we have left there is something that I want to say, no, something I _have _to say, with every last bit of my soul. Leaning in, so you have more of a chance to hear me, I inhale deeply through my nostrils. The scent of blood and your intoxicating cologne intertwine as one. Swallowing in a harsh manner, I push the words forcibly from my throat.

"I-I..."

I stop, shaking my head. No, no, this isn't right. I can't do this to you or to myself. If I said it now, it wouldn't be fair to either of us. I cannot let you leave the world with something like that. I cannot attempt to go on after your untimely death, knowing I have done that to you. Instead, I merely caress the backs of your hands with my thumbs, noting how much shallower your breathing has become. On the other side of it, I suppose I do not want you to leave us to the tune of empty silence.

I must apologize. I know my voice is not nearly as melodic as the ones you surround yourself with, but I will do the best I can, recalling in my mind my youth and the soft, lulling tunes my mother sang for me when I could not sleep. From among these I pick my favorite, but sadly, the words beyond the first lines escape me. But with your pulse ever growing softer, I do not have time to fish them out of my memory. I shall merely hum the rest of the song for you instead.

"_Nen, nen, cororiyo, ocororiyo..." _I begin, then the rest is left to wordless melody. I never get to finish.

Somewhere in the midst of the song, the rhythm beneath my fingertips fades out completely and forever. The door opens abruptly seconds later and I fall silent. I am unwillingly dragged away from you, half-carried as my body seems to go numb, eyes open but not taking in any sights around me. Strong hands, a familiar voice trying to soothe, something warm like weak tea being offered to me, measurements of time becoming vague and unclear. Angry words, not directed at me, float over my head, and somehow, in the midst of the chaos, despair and hatred... I lull myself to sleep with the last song you ever heard.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Yay, it's like a repost. (I'm surprised that no one was able to identify Sakano as the speaker when I posted this by itself.) Thanks to all that reviewed the last, really long chapter: Anon64, Guren and Miroku's Priestess (who made my day with her ego-boosting words). Sorry to kill your presumption, Anon64, but as I said before I'm not sure if I got gratification or sadness out of doing that, but even if I cheer at my opportunity to kill Tohma I still feel bad for the effect it would have on others, like Sakano as you just saw.  
So finally a perspective that's a little less delusional than the one I have been using. This is an incomprehensibly good thing to me, it hurts my brain a little less. In keeping with the weird way I do things, Sakano's chapter title 'theme' is music.  
Bonus if you know what he stopped himself from saying. 


	4. Glass House

**Empyrean Rose**  
_by Capella A. Morningside_

_IV: K: Glass House_

"I can't take this anymore!"

I'd been almost asleep when the familiar grating yell hit me upside the head like a shovel, followed soon after with a protesting, whiny voice.

"Come on-n-n! Just once more, I'll get it right this time I swear!"

"You've said that about ten times now."

"But this time I mean it!"

"This is a waste of time. I'm going to take a break before I get blisters on my fingers."

My eyes were still closed, the near-daily argument failing to really affect me, simply sighing and hoping that the more reasonable guitarist would stop the fight so I wouldn't have to. I was feeling lazy, so sue me.

"He's right, I'm going to rest awhile too, I'm starting to get callouses on my callouses."

So much for the reasonable guitarist.

"Hiro-o-o," came the inevitable wail, "Not you too! Everyone's against me-e!"

"I don't blame them," I finally said, still not opening my eyes, slouching a little more in my uncomfortable chair. "You're being more incompetent than usual today."

"K-san! You're so cruel!"

"At least he's on our side for once," Fujisaki remarked.

"When did I say I was on anyone's side?" I replied with a smirk, finally opening my eyes, meeting the keyboardist's highly irritated gaze with full confidence. Silence reigned a few moments, even Nakano was wisely picking up his instrument again when Fujisaki's fury broke out in full force.

"Oh come on, K-san! It's been at least fifteen times now and that idiot still can't remember the melody!"

Shuichi piped in for his own defense, energetically hopping up and down in front of the mic. "I got it this time, I really do! Just once more! Please-e-e!"

"You're starting to waste more time with your complaining than Shindou is by screwing up constantly," I responded. "Get back behind that keyboard."

"Can't argue with that," Nakano muttered.

Fujisaki gave me the good ol' 'I-dare-you' look, crossing his arms and looking too much like a brattier version of his cousin for his own good. I had to give him credit, he did this almost every time something like this happened even though he always knew how it would end. I was just about to let history repeat itself, my hand reaching for my gun, when Shuichi spoke again, his voice more serious than before.

"Um... why is that light blinking?"

I halted, my eyes immediately going to the pink-haired singer, then following his gaze to a blinking red light just next to the trigger for the fire alarm. I was on my feet in an instant. "Someone triggered the silent alarm."

Sober-mindedness came over the band immediately. "What's going on?" the guitarist inquired, lowly.

I shook my head. "I don't know." I went ahead and took out my handgun, however, loading a fresh clip into the weapon in record time. Taking advantage of the quiet, I listened hard, trying to catch any sounds from outside the room and for a moment, all I heard were doors, opening and closing down the hall. Eventually I distinguished the sound of police sirens, much to my relief. "The cops are here..."

But the sound of the opening and closing doors was getting nearer. The band members seemed to sense my unrest, remaining silent and tense, watching me like a guide. If my guard was up, they knew there was a damned good reason for it.

I realized too late that the room's design and my own position were working against me. As the door came open, it swung so that it blocked me from access or even from seeing who had entered. The shot was fired before I could get around the obstacle and I watched helplessly as Shindou cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his side. The other two took shelter behind equipment as quickly as they could to dodge a few extra bullets that came in their general directions, and I did the only thing I could at the time; I threw my weight with full force into the open door, catching the unseen assailant off-guard and the door slammed shut.

Though not a particularly religious man, I made a mental note to thank every single deity profusely later when I turned and witnessed Shindou slowly coming to a stand. The resilient singer appeared to have only been grazed, and his bandmates were at his side in an instant. Now that priority one was taken care of...

"Take care of him," I said firmly. This wannabe-assassin wasn't going to get away, not under my watch. Cautiously, I cracked the door open, just in time to catch the black-clad assailant disappear around the corner. I didn't hesitate to give chase. "I'll be right back," I called behind me.

He wasn't hard to follow, this man dressed in such dark attire in a place decorated so lightly. He spent a while trying to lose me, weaving through the hallways and ascending stairways in a frantic manner. Up floors, down floors, through the corridors, throwing to the side anyone that got in his way, he ran like a bat out of hell.

"Where will you go?" I called breathlessly after him at one point. "Get away from me... and you'll run straight into the police..."

The response to this was a blindly-fired bullet that whizzed past my head dangerously. "Shit! You little prick!" I cried.

But in my mind, I nearly smiled. Way to go, moron, I thought. You fired at me, don't you know that gives me full authority to shoot back? Still on the run, I leveled my handgun at the back of his head: I could all-too-easily put this guy out of his misery with one shot. He threw open the door of another staircase, and I followed, stopping dead in my tracks at the base of the stairs, formulating another, better plan instead.

Watching him jog up the stairs, I calculated, aimed, and fired.

The shot hit perfectly. Immediately disabled, he gave a terrible yell, the knee I'd shot out the back of giving way underneath him, sending the assassin tumbling backwards disgracefully down the stairs. Smiling in my victory, I simply watched, carefully sidestepping out of the way when he hit the floor next to me with a loud noise, his gun clattering on the tile and coming to a rest several meters away from him.

"What have we here?" I said, cleverly, taking in the thin appearance, the hollow eyes, and the scarred arms. "A classic meth-head."

He looked from his gun, to me, with contempt. "Fucking American," he spat.

I smiled. "You say that like it's an insult."

Using his arms, the dark-haired man tried in desperation to get back up, only to cry out in pain when he attempted to use the leg I had damaged, possibly forever.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I taunted. "But that's what you get. Too bad your little mission went awry."

"Awry?" he mimicked. Lowering his head, he gave a laugh I could only classify as unstable. "You don't know what you're talking about. I did exactly what I came here to do."

"For your information, you barely hurt Shindou Shuichi. Sorry to disappoint."

The echoing again, this time mocking my accent while repeating my words. "Sorry to disappoint, but that means I only failed in half of my mission." He grinned up at me. "I'm willing to bet Seguchi's already dead by now."

I told myself he could only be bluffing, that he could just be trying to psyche me out, but something in his insane eyes told me it wasn't a lie. My boastful confidence faltered a bit, and I wanted to see for myself. My eyes not leaving the man on the floor, I pushed open the stairway door, peering out.

Much to my convenience, a lone policewoman was in the hall, questioning a few rattled people that had most likely borne witness to our little chase. I summoned her with a wave of my hand, and she was there in a flash, calling for backup on her two-way radio. She didn't have much to say to me, only asking me if the bleeding, nasty-looking wound behind his knee was my doing; I proudly took credit.

When the policewoman's attention left me, I ascended the staircase for a few floors, now with the intent of finding out what exactly was going on upstairs.

Police chatter and the scrambled voices over transceivers buzzing in and out created quite a layer of noise that greeted me when I emerged on the correct floor. The authorities here were uptight, as soon as I shut the door behind me, three of them were on me, asking questions and unnecessarily prodding me, eyeing my weapon with high-strung expressions. It took a lot of convincing, but in time they backed down, obviously having more important matters to attend to. The elevator next to me opened, and a young man carrying a morbidly familiar black bag made his way down the hall-- so that psycho wasn't bluffing after all. I sighed and turned away, preparing to return to my band, tell them the news, and retrieve medical help for Shindou if it hadn't been done already... when one last thing caught my attention.

In the middle of all the chaos, the nervousness and the generally negative atmosphere, lay the last person I expected to see calm, curled up on a bench and clutching at a thin blanket some paramedic had thrown over him, fast asleep. I grabbed a passing paramedic on his way to the elevator, and pointing at the man, I asked, "Is he alright?"

The man straightened his glasses, peering over them to see what I was referring to. "Oh, him?" A nod. "He's fine, well, physically anyway. We found him sitting next to the body. After we took him out of the room, he just went to sleep."

"He's my co-worker," I identified. "I'll take him home."

"Thanks. We weren't sure what to do with him." He nodded, pulling away from my hand on his shoulder, and gradually disappearing back into the forest of people. "Don't upset him when he wakes up. Call the hospital if you need anything."

"Got it." I assured. Finally remembering to replace my gun in its holster, I did so, and carefully working my way through the crowded hall I approached the bench, debating whether I should wake him up. In the end, I decided against possibly getting him all upset, and scooped him up in my arms, blanket and all, and took the elevator back to the floor our band was on.

Paramedics were already helping Shindou onto a stretcher when I arrived, despite his constant protests that he was perfectly able to walk out to the ambulance, and his incessant pleading with anyone who would listen that someone call Yuki to tell him that he was going to the hospital. Great, I thought. The news hadn't spread yet.

"I've tried three times now, Shu," I heard Nakano saying as I pushed my way into the room. "He's not answering. I doubt he's even awake--" the guitarist watched me enter, Sakano still dead asleep in my arms. "K, what's going on? Did you get the guy?"

"I did," I replied. "The police have him now."

"Oh good," Shindou sighed as the paramedics lifted the stretcher. "That guy was a major creep."

"Time to go, Shindou-san," one of the men lifting the stretcher said.

I could tell that the singer wanted nothing more than to disagree, but Nakano stepped in, performing his usual routine of using reassuring words to calm his friend down. "Don't worry, Shu. I'll call Yuki Eiri-san's phone until it drives him crazy, I'll make sure he knows you're okay."

"Thanks, Hiro." And with a little smile and a wave, he was finally carried out of the room.

"That guy was a drug addict," I dully said, carefully lying the sleeping producer down on a bench to give my back a rest. Sure the man was light, but I was pretty damn tired already. "I could tell when I got a better look at him."

At last it seemed Sakano had caught their attention. Fujisaki broke his silence, stepping away from his place against the wall. "What happened to Sakano-san? Is he okay?"

Unfortunately, I could barely look at the kid when I responded. Was it really going to be up to me to break the news? "He's sleeping... somehow."

"What's going on up there?" the keyboardist asked. "It must have been someone up there that triggered the alarm."

"Well," I scratched the back of my neck, most likely starting to look like the nervous wreck that Sakano usually was. "Apparently Shuichi wasn't this guy's only target."

"Who else?"

I sighed, summoning up my old strength. Come on, Claude, I told myself. You can do this. It's not something you haven't done before. My cool demeanor returning, I looked Fujisaki directly in the eyes with all seriousness. "Fujisaki-kun, I hate having to tell you this, but..." I paused, swallowing. "He went after your cousin first."

"W-what are you saying?" The teenager stuttered. Time to be blunt, no room for denial.

"Seguchi was shot, Fujisaki-kun," I said, voice inexpressive. "He's dead." The boy stared at me, aghast. "I'm sorry."

Nakano looked from me, to the upset teen, before taking a step toward the latter with deeply-etched concern in his features. "Suguru..."

A hand stopped him. Though he watched the ground, Fujisaki's extended hand silenced his bandmate in an instant. The room seemed to freeze around us, no one even attempting to move, but at length, his expression still stoic, the keyboardist let his arm down to fish in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone.

"I'm calling Mika-san," he answered our question before it even left our lips, rapidly dialing on the device. "I don't want her to hear it from the police first."

Gently, I bent down, scooping the still-slumbering Sakano in my arms once more. "I'm going home," I said, watching Fujisaki retreat to a corner of the room to speak with Seguchi's wife in private. "I'll take Sakano with me. I..." I paused, hearing a cry, just barely audible from the other end of the line on the teenager's phone, and felt a sinking feeling in my chest. "I don't think he needs to be by himself right now."

Hiroshi nodded at me. "I agree. I'm headed to the hospital to look after Shu, or at least until Yuki Eiri-san gets there." He picked up his backpack as well as Shindou's, slinging both over his shoulder. "Which may be a while, considering..." Wisely, he didn't finish the sentence, leaving the room silently.

I heard a soft click of Fujisaki flipping his phone shut. "I'm going to see her," he said, just above a whisper, head lowered as he took swift strides out of the room, leaving me alone with the sleeping producer.

I sighed stressfully. "Well, Sakano-san," I whispered to his unconscious form, "let's go. There's no reason to stick around here anymore."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **This was perhaps the hardest chapter yet to get started on, but once I did things went pretty smooth, I only hit a couple of hitches. Thanks to my reviewers, l.h.o.o.q., Guren, Miroku's Priestess and of course HeidedeVries! (By the way Guren, you were right about what Sakano stopped himself from saying, good job.) This piece has marked a couple of landmarks in my statistics. They are:

-The most reviews I've ever gotten on a piece (and it's not even done yet)!

-The first time I was ever put in a C2 archive.

Well, aside from all that, I guess I should mention that K's 'chapter title theme' is house and home. I think I had the most fun with the beginning of this, it was a welcome break from the despair and darkness that dominate this piece and I just love watching Bad Luck squabble amongst themselves, it never ceases to entertain me. And don't worry, Taki's role isn't completely done yet, he still has a bit of a part to play before all is said and done here. Well, hope you enjoyed, next chapter will be here soon!


	5. Elegy

**Empyrean Rose**  
_by Capella A. Morningside_

_V: Sakano: Elegy_

When I awoke I already knew something was wrong. I wasn't in my own bed, my tie, belt, shoes and glasses were missing and the first few buttons on my shirt were mysteriously loose, but it ran deeper than that, the sinking feeling that is. The room was pitch black, but the glaring red numbers on the digital clock next to me told me it was early evening, just around sunset. Finding my glasses by chance on top of the clock, I put them on, trying to adjust to the poor lighting.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized what day it was. A Tuesday, and I wasn't at work? Instead, here I was in some stranger's bed, with no recollection of how I had gotten there... Shachou was going to fire me, I knew it. I gave several low discontent sounds, hands coming up to massage at my temples fitfully. Great, great, nothing like getting up in the _evening _and realizing you're dead for sure!

Not wanting to catch the attention of whoever owned the place, I sat up, noticing the curtained windows to my right. With a groan, I pushed out of bed, standing shakily. Still unsure of my surroundings, I put my hands out before me slightly, trying to ensure that I didn't violently collide with any furniture. There wasn't anything of consequence to my safety in my way, but I did feel the touch of clothing underneath my feet at almost every other step... whoever they were, they were in dire need of a laundry basket.

Pulling back the dark curtain, all my hopes of getting out the window were trashed. I had to be at least fifteen or twenty stories up! Damned high-rise apartment buildings, I thought, before remembering I lived in one myself.

Sighing in a defeated fashion and giving in to whatever lay before me, I traversed the other way around the bed and opened the bedroom door.

There wasn't much light in there either. The only illumination came from a muted TV set against one wall, and the light in the adjacent kitchen glowed brightly. Soft noises, like someone digging through a refrigerator, informed me that the owner of this strange, messy place was in there, and I gathered my courage, calling out in a meek voice while still standing in the bedroom doorframe, "H-hello?"

"Sakano-san?" was the reply, accompanied by a face, framed with long, tangled blonde hair peeking around the corner of the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the place. A good deal of my nervousness faded away then, at least it was someone I knew. "I see you're awake."

"K-...K-san?" I replied, stepping timidly into the room. "What's going on? Why am I in y-your apart-tment?"

He frowned, then disappeared into the kitchen. "You don't remember."

I sniffed a little, suddenly finding the floor very interesting to look at. "I-I don't. I'm sorry... wh-what am I supposed to remember?"

K emerged from the kitchen, two cups in hand, each filled with what looked to be steaming hot coffee. I perked up a bit at the mere sight of it, but something struck me as odd as to my co-worker's behavior, but I hadn't been able to place a finger on it until now... he simply wasn't being his loud, maniacal, American self. I watched as he flopped down on the couch, gesturing for me to join him, setting the second cup of coffee on the low table in front of it.

Holding my own sides, not out of fear but apprehension at the manager's unusual mannerisms, I approached, still with my head lowered, and seated myself on the couch as well. Only then was I at the proper angle to see that someone was seated in the large, ridiculously plush chair that I'd previously been behind: none other than Sakuma Ryuichi. And of course, in his arms, the ever-present Kumagouro. The superstar was unmoving, and I was unable to see his eyes underneath the tilted baseball cap, but I guessed he was sound asleep.

"What... w-was I supposed to remember, K-san?" I repeated, after a long sip of my coffee, setting the cup down shakily.

A sigh from the blonde. "You're not going to like this," he said, voice thick with dry humor. Lifting the remote control that had been resting on the arm of the chair, he aimed at the television, turning the sound back on but quickly softening it as to not wake Sakuma.

"...and several security officials in the building have already been questioned. However it is unclear as to how the intruder managed to slip in without being asked for any form of identification or to comply to a metal detector sweep..."

I cut in, interrupting the voice of the reporter. "K-san, I don't-t..."

"Shh," he urged firmly, and with a whimper of discomfort I sat back, still listening. The program had switched to the newsroom now, a stoic-faced anchorman continuing coverage, apparently of the same event.

"We have just received word here in the newsroom that Shindou Shuichi, lead singer of Bad Luck, is expected out of the hospital after a brief stay overnight. His injuries are classified as minor--"

I gave an audible gasp, only to be silenced again by the American. "Listen," he practically ordered.

"Our interviewers were able to meet with Shindou-san less than an hour ago and his outlook for his recovery is optimistic, however he and the other members of Bad Luck declined any comment pertaining to the terrible shock that took place just this morning. I'll hand it over to you, Nozawa-san."

"Thank you, Aonuma-san. Today, Japan lost an icon. Keyboardist and producer for the popular music group Nittle Grasper, President and CEO of the prestigious N-G Productions record label--"

I felt it. Cold, like my bones beginning to freeze. I couldn't react.

"--Seguchi Tohma was gunned down in his office this morning by the former lead singer for the disbanded group ASK, Aizawa Taki, at the age of thirty-three. He died on the scene--"

K's eyes were on me, I could feel them, as well as another set; perhaps Sakuma-san had awoken...

I still couldn't move.

"Family members as well as Ukai Noriko and Sakuma Ryuichi cannot be reached for comment at this time. But fervent Nittle Grasper fans are already speaking out, sending the family and friends their condolences in the form of cards, flowers, and all manner of trinkets left just outside the police line by the front doors of the N-G building."

Deciding perhaps that I'd had enough, K flipped off the television with the press of a button, focusing his full attention on me. "Sakano-san..." he paused. "Do you remember now?"

I felt myself crack. I remembered every moment, each little second I spent in that office, holding those cold hands, as if each had lasted a year. I remembered the melody to the song. I remembered the final breath...

What kind of cruel trick had it been that made me forget?

And I broke.

I pulled off my glasses, letting them tumble to the floor so carelessly, and I clung to the closest person to me, K, and understandingly, he held me like a child, letting me cry myself into hysterics in his arms.

* * *

_(Two Weeks Later)  
_

"Sakano-san."

I groaned and rolled over in my sleep.

"Sakano-san..."

The touch to my cheek was brushed away with my hand. I muttered something that was intended to come out as 'five more minutes', but even I couldn't distinguish my unintelligible words.

"Wake up, Sakano-san!"

Finally, I opened my eyes a bit, noticing first of all I had slept with my glasses on. Not just my glasses... my entire work suit, shoes and all! I must have been tired the night before. Rolling over onto my back, I saw a vision of light and beauty standing over me, smiling cheerfully. The light, flowery voice spoke again.

"You'd better hurry. Your bad sleeping habits have already made us both late. I even had to come and fetch you at home."

_That _woke me up. I was on my feet in an instant, trying to untangle the loose sheet from my foot as I bowed frantically, repeatedly, the empty pill bottle dropping from my hand and making a noisy sound on the floor. "I-I'm sorry, Shachou! I'm sorry! It won't h-happen again, you have my-y word!"

Laughter greeted my behavior. "Relax, relax. Don't worry about changing suits, that will do just fine."

I bowed once more. "Yes, of course, Seguchi-san."

The trademark smile again, and he opened the door of my simple one-room apartment, the light of the hallway shining into the darkness, seeming to penetrate everything it touched, even giving Seguchi a nearly divine aura as he stood with his back to it, waiting for me, left hand extended.

"Come, Sakano-san..." he called. "Let's go."

Finally loosing myself from the sheet, I approached quickly, hesitating only for a moment as I took his hand, and together we walked through the doorway.

"Sh-shachou... I'm glad you came." I smiled, feeling my cheeks flush embarrassingly, like a teenager on his first date. "I had the most terrifying dream last night..."

"Really?" he asked curiously, not for a moment lacking in sincerity. "Well, you can tell me all about it on the way." And with that, he kicked the door shut behind us.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **That... was... absolutely nothing like I planned it. Ah, creations. You make them, you nurture them, and then they become something you never expected. God, that was just... weird. I don't have anything else to say, except, thanks to my reviewers Anon64 and Guren, and I hope you enjoyed it! 


	6. Snowflake Obsidian

**Empyrean Rose  
**_by Capella A. Morningside_

_VI: Ma-kun: Snowflake Obsidian_

I spent so much of my short-lived career trailing behind him, picking up his messes and assuring whomever he had shocked, upset, or made angry that he didn't really mean it, that deep down he was harmless, wouldn't ever hurt anyone. I was proven wrong once and only once before, and it cost me. For him, I was beaten within an inch of my life. For him I did everything I could to ensure that the impact of his foolish actions was as minimal as possible. Moreover, as soon as I let myself get too distanced...

Oh, I knew he had a problem. I suppose I didn't think there was anything Ken or I could do about it, it was something out of our control, and I reasoned to myself that trying to get involved would only make things worse in the long run. He was intelligent, we both knew it... how could he not see he has a problem, we asked each other, and wasted our time, waiting for the day he'd finally come to us or go and ask for help himself.

Since then I've had to attend two funerals.

So what was I supposed to do for damage control this time? Try to tell the wife of a murdered man while she stands faithfully beside his coffin, cradling in her arms a child that willnever truly know its father, that there was something I could have possibly done to stop this, but didn't? Look into the eyes of a man who feels his completely fragile world collapsing around him and tell him 'it'll be alright'? Watch a man of greater status than I could have ever hoped to be give up his most treasured stuffed rabbit so it may accompany his friend into the ground, and say 'I'm sorry'? It just doesn't work that way. So I just wandered about, paid my respects silently and didn't say a word to anyone. Consequently, no one spoke to me. I felt their eyes on me, the ones that were not completely consumed by what was happening, and those that remembered who I was wondered what I was even doing there. I'm glad no one asked... I didn't have an answer. But I will never forget walking away from that ceremony, and looking over my shoulder one last time to see the ones that grieved the most just standing there like they couldn't leave. Mika-san with her baby, her two brothers Eiri and Tatsuha at her side, with Ryuichi Sakuma and Noriko Ukai... and last but not least, the meek Sakano-san; I would end up attending his humble funeral after his quiet suicide a little more than two weeks later.

Beautiful people create the ugliest messes.

It was over a month after these dismal events that I was finally to be allowed to see Tachi again, in the prison. I called to ask Ken if he wanted to come with me, but his tone turned flat as soon as I brought it up, and he told me he wasn't interested. I haven't spoken with him since.

I visited Tachi several times, and it was only on the fourth time that he finally spoke to me. By then, he had been off drugs for several months and looked healthier, but his mind suffered. I had no idea how much, until the day he finally spoke.

"Ma-kun," he softly inquired into the black phone. His once clear-cut voice had grown frail, his tone wavering like someone on the edge of tears.

My eyes finally went up from where they had been fixed on the bright white of the table before me, hand fumbling somewhat with my own phone. "H-hai, Tachi?"

"D-did I really do it?" he stumbled.

I didn't respond. His glazed eyes met with my own. Even in this state, they were able to hold my gaze; whether I liked it or not.

"Did I r-really... shoot Seguchi-i?" Tachi shivered. I could barely stand to see him like this, but it was now at least apparent he felt remorse for what he'd done. "Did-d I kill him? Just l-like they say? Ma-kun?"

I jumped as he slammed his hand against the plastic separating us, head lowering so that his hair hid his eyes and I could no longer try to read his expression; at least I no longer had to stare into those hollow orbs that once held so much beauty. The guards fidgeted nervously. Slowly, pensively, as if I actually thought he'd feel it my own hand reached the plastic, putting my slightly larger hand against his own if it hadn't been for the barrier.

He knew the truth. He knew exactly what he had done, but nonetheless, here he was asking me. It was not as if he had slain a saint, we both knew that Tohma Seguchi had been anything but, even though the attendance numbers and atmosphere of his funeral got close to convincing even me otherwise. But Tachi wasn't asking for assurance or confirmation. Not this time. He wanted a reminiscence of a better time, a time that would never be ours again... he needed me to play the good lackey, tell him what he wanted to hear... one final time.

"No," I shook my head slowly, and he raised his head just enough to see me trying to hide my eyes before he could witness my tears. "No, Tachi. You didn't... it was just a bad dream."

"Th-thank you, Ma-kun." Tachi muttered into his end of the line, the last of the words becoming faint as he was already in the process of hanging it back on the metal cradle. His hand left mine, the guards led him away; I never came to see him after that.

I went home, and wept until every muscle ached.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I'd written this about two weeks ago today, not long after I finished Sleepsong, and just gave it it's place in the chronology, sat back, and waited until it was time to post it. 

Even though he only has one chapter (the poor dear), Ma-kun's theme is 'stones'. Snowflake Obsidian is a stone meant to bring out truth and alleviate anger... just so you know I didn't just pick a random rock, hee hee.

Issue with Taki/Tachi: Taki's his real given name. Tachi is a nickname, a softening of the 'k' that almost makes it sound almost cute, in accordance with ASK's effeminate little names for each other. (Awww.) I see this confused a lot, even this site itself has him listed as 'Tachi' in the character filters.

Additionally, (and I imagine Heide's still amused by this) I got an excuse to use a pairing I used to be somewhat repulsed by. I guess I... got used to it or something, now I find it cute. But a lot of things that happen in this piece seem to be weird excuses to do things. Uh, oh well. Thanks to Heidedevries and Miroku's Priestess for the reviews.


	7. Haunted House

**Empyrean Rose**  
_by Capella A. Morningside_

_VII: K: Haunted House_

I have always had a problem with people dying in the spring.

There are a million poems out there written about times of war, and how everything seemed surreal and otherworldly because guns were firing, death was all around but at the same time, flowers were blooming and the weather was perfect. Back when I lived in California I had the same problem, I have attended funerals in the spring before, these odd events that create an island of death in the midst of all the blooming and budding life. Nevertheless, it's far, far worse in Japan, because this country takes spring to a whole new level. Two words: cherry blossoms. Pink, delicate, they bloom for two or three days, then spend about a week falling off in a torrential rain of flower petals.

The postcard beauty of this event is something I had to put up with through two of the worst funerals I've had to attend. It would be an understatement to call it inappropriate, to see and hear the indications of new life while death and its grievers surround you. Perhaps it is some kind of reminder of balance in all things; I'm sure that's what any good monk would tell me.

I did the best I could to do some reaching out after the N-G building crisis, although it started by people coming to me. Ryuichi came knocking at my door as soon as he heard, and didn't say much, just slept and drank tea off and on with me, occasionally watching the same news broadcast told a thousand different ways on television while squeezing Kumagouro. It was probably best that he was there, and not at his own home where he could be potentially bothered by the media. I did come to realize why he was there at all; he wasn't hiding or running, he was just sticking close to someone he felt safe with, someone he knew and trusted that would protect him.

After Seguchi's funeral, he got a little more talkative, probably feeling a bit better from the sense of closure, and expressed a fervent wish to go back to America. It surprised me, he hadn't been back in Japan very long at all and he already wanted to return. Here and there he would drop hints that he wanted me to go with him, but I couldn't, and I let him know it. If he wanted to go back, he was going to have to go alone (which I'll admit is a thought that the protective side of me isn't comfortable with). This was his form of escape, I came to understand, Ryuichi was doing nothing more than trying to distract himself, or run away, run somewhere where he could pretend that none of this was happening, where he could pretend that he was living in times that are more favorable. Artistic and creative people deal with grief in artistic and creative ways.

Saying that, I suppose it's safe to say that no one deals with grief in ways that are foreign to them. The sorrow is enough that no one is willing to suddenly change their behavior, they continue to react in ways that they always would, in order to try to give themselves and those around them a sense of normality. For example, I managed to have a short visit with Mika-san to offer my condolences before she took off to live with her father for a time. Dressed in a black silken _mofuku_, she politely accepted my gifts, my rather-long winded words of encouragement and insisted I seat myself while she served me some tea. I let her, while she darted between tending to me and tending to her infant, talking about how the future has changed for her child, her plans to possibly settle in Kyoto, and maybe even re-marry in good time in order to ensure a stable family life for the baby's welfare. Practical, logical, calculating; it was little wonder they had been married. I didn't dare ask if it was perhaps too soon to think about such things, but I'm sure she saw the question in my eyes, and told me what I just knew she had been pushed to say to so many others: "It's what he would want. For our baby, and for me."

Then there was Sakano. I'll never stop kicking myself about what happened to him, yet I know if I'd done anything, I was most likely just delaying something morbidly inevitable. In this, just as in anything, he dealt with the issue in a nervous, self-destructive, self-blaming manner. It was as talking to a brick wall when one tried to convince him that none of it was his fault, but for a long time, a few others and I were honestly convinced he was going to recover. He spent several days in my apartment as well, pacing around in a constant, navigationally challenged manner, avoiding Ryuichi's eyes at every turn. Where Ryuichi could come and go as he pleased, I refused to let Sakano leave at all, even asking the former to watch him when I went off to his apartment to retrieve some necessities. What I found there was something that in happier times, I would have blackmailed him for in a second; but now, all it did was worry me more about the timid fellow. This was not an apartment; it was a live-in _shrine_, adoration taken to almost pathetic levels. It should not have, but it made me just a twinge jealous. For a while now, I'd thought of Sakano as someone I could easily fall for, he and my wife had very similar thought processes and qualities, (although he would have done well to learn her self-confidence), had the same astral sign of Virgo, and just like Judy, he'd pin me in an instant with my mistakes and most of my bluffs.

But I digress. Sakano was chosen to temporarily, perhaps permanently take over Seguchi's position as company president, and at the same time, retain his job producing for Bad Luck. This was when I thought for sure he was bouncing back. He did get lucky, our band would be having some time off for Shuichi to recuperate, and for Fujisaki to spend some time with his family, and he wasn't completely weighed down from the beginning. About three days at that job and I was willing to let him go home. He was, of course, still depressed, but he'd started eating well again and was handling the backlog of work efficiently.

Then one day, he didn't show up.

I couldn't hide the fact that I was somewhat in a panic, and he was only an hour and a half late when I left for his apartment. Terrible, grotesque images kept filling my head as to what the man could have done to himself, I almost wrecked my car about a dozen times by driving recklessly when I finally arrived. Something felt wrong as soon as I opened the door. The air in the hall had been a comfortable temperature, yet when that door came open I felt a sudden chill hit me like a breeze, doing more than just rustling my hair and ghosting over my skin; it passed _through_ me, making me cold all over. Just as soon as it came, it was gone, and normal temperatures resumed almost immediately.

I guess I wasn't too surprised when he didn't wake up, no matter how many times I shook him, and the empty plastic bottle of sleeping pills in his hand just affirmed my fears. A whiff of the glass on the nightstand; he'd downed them with strong alcohol, just to be sure. It was the closest I came within those few weeks to tears; but I never shed one.

The band didn't take the news too well, naturally. I didn't like having to weigh Fujisaki down with more loss, but he, just like Mika-san, is doing an excellent job of hiding how strongly all this has affected him. And as I anticipated, it hit Hiroshi and Shuichi a little closer to home. They'd chat with me sometimes, recalling the days they had with him as their manager, the ones I was not present for, and we'd halfheartedly laugh at memories of Sakano leaping desperately from ground-floor windows when some little thing went wrong.

And one by one, the people that I had spent so much of my time and effort trying to help and counsel no longer needed my assistance. After a week or so even Ryuichi went home, and things went back to being as normal as could be expected. Quieter and less sarcastic than usual, Fujisaki returned, Shuichi's wound healed up, practices resumed and I was back to getting work and appearances for Bad Luck but with a bit of a doubled workload. Now I was alone to focus on my emotions, rather than letting myself put all my sight into the feelings of others. At least Judy and Michael were calling more than usual, their voices could brighten the darkest of any day to me. They promised to come and visit as soon as they had a chance, and I'm counting the seconds.

I eventually worked up the will to visit the gravesites all alone one day. It was a relatively large cemetery, and both were laid to rest here, just on opposite sides of a little through-street that barely had enough width for a single car to pass; so imagine my annoyance when I park along the path side, only to see that some sleek, black car is facing mine. This was going to be a nightmare for both of us when either party chose to leave. Yet aside from that, I noticed a striking familiarity about this car, and pieced it together in an instant when I saw two figures standing together just a few meters away; one blonde-headed, the other bubblegum. I'd recognize that dysfunctional pair anywhere.

They must have heard my approach on the grass long before they saw me, as they didn't seem at all surprised when I appeared beside them, two single red roses in hand, every last thorn hand-picked off of the stems. We didn't greet each other verbally, an exchange of glances was all that took place, and I felt them watching me as I bent down, placing one of the deep red flowers on the final resting place of Tohma Seguchi.

"It's beautiful," Shuichi commented.

"Single red rose," I heard Eiri-san say, his voice full of thought. "It stands for simplicity, or love. I would have used white."

"In America," I replied, coming to a stand and dusting off my slacks, "white roses are pretty much for weddings."

"Mm," was his only response.

"But it's not just red. Dark crimson stands for mourning," I went on, lifting the other rose to my gaze, adoring it. "And it has no thorns, but retains its leaves."

"And what's that mean, K-san?" the singer curiously asked.

I sighed, quoting. "I fear no longer; I hope."

Eiri arched a brow at me. "Fear, hm?"

"Some things are best left unsaid," I quipped dryly. "Double meaning, anyway. Not what you'd think."

"So I assumed."

With a last respectful bow, I turned away from the grave, the others following suit within moments to follow me across the narrow street. I did manage to catch Eiri-san's annoyed look to the positioning of our cars as we passed them; it was enough to lighten my spirits just before we reached Sakano's humble-in-comparison headstone.

I kneeled, setting this rose down as well. "Every time I come here," I mused aloud, "I think of this old American poem, by some old anti-war worker during the First World War..."

"Name?" was Eiri's simple question.

I shrugged, standing. "I don't remember."

"Can you recite it?" Shuichi asked brightly.

"It's in English."

"Well of course it is," the author said, dully and borderlining rude, staring at the sky distractedly and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Give me a few lines, I might remember it."

I cleared my throat, preparing to recite. "_When I am dead, let no one bow his head, to talk or preach or pray. When I am dead, tears should remain unshed that day._"

Eiri's eyes lit up in recognition, though he didn't once look at me, and he interrupted, picking up where I'd left off and still in English. "_When I am dead, I want a rose instead, tender and proud on display, aflame with crimson red; to say, when I am dead, what can truly be said no other way._"

"So you do know it," I said.

He nodded, finally turning his visual attention to me. "Ralph Chaplin. It's called 'Ultimate Rose'."

Shuichi's violet eyes were full of wonder, and he softly attached himself to the writer's arm with a smile. "Wow... that sounded so cool, Yuki-i... you're going to have to tell me what it means on the trip home."

"We'll leave you be, given I can get my car out of here," Eiri stated towards me, pausing as he and Shuichi gave their respectful bows to the headstone and started to leave, the singer looking back and waving at me in a quietly cheerful manner until his boyfriend's attention was on him.

"Come on, kid," I heard him saying, voice surprisingly affectionate. "I'll tell you all about it on the way."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow. And that's _it. _This project has finally come to an end. And to think, it started with an odd, offhand AIM conversation.

I had fun with the traditional flower meanings. White in Japan means the ultimate absence, death, for those that didn't know. Additionally, the poem was the inspiration for the title. I got it out of a book of my Grandfather's, from the 1930s. Wowee. (One more thing. Note the similarities between the dialogue at the end of this chapter and chapter five. I don't know what I'm trying to say with that.)

I suppose I should say that a 'mofuku' is a traditional black kimono worn by widows.

This piece hit another few landmarks before its end; namely being highest chapter amount as well as word count of all my projects on this site as of now. I also didn't expect the response I got, and I really thank you all for your reading and support! It's meant a lot to me. Thanks to all! The world-famous, mayonnaise-on-her-French-fries-loving Heide DeVries, the mysterious man/woman-behind-the-internet-mask Anon64, the super-ego-boosting Miroku's Priestess (who I must say, figured out one of the larger aims of this project, chapters that can stand on their own with minimal confusion), the happy-go-lucky Guren, the middle-schooler-tolerating l.h.o.o.q., and of course the mistress-of-unexpected-pairings Silverone. I dunno, I just felt the need to give you all hyphenated nicknames as a sign of my gratitude. Give me a break, it's 3:58am!

Goodnight! Happy writing, and I'll see you all in whatever strange thing I think up next.


End file.
